


Ring My Bell

by emynn



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 14:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5337104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emynn/pseuds/emynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brian has to have his tonsils removed. It goes about as well as expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ring My Bell

In the end, Brian decided it was best to just get it out of the way.

“Well, you were right.”

Justin, the little twat, doesn’t even have the grace to sound gratified by Brian’s admission. In fact, his tone bordered on blasé. “About what?” he asked. “That the new dildo you bought wasn’t worth the $300 you paid for it? That shirt actually _does_ look like a Magic Eye image? That the lamp on top of your fridge actually doesn’t add significant light to the loft?”

“No,” Brian said, not even bothering to dignify Justin’s other comments with a remark, given how beyond fucking false they all were. “I saw the doctor today.”

There was a pause, and then Justin asked, “oh?”

“Got myself a good old-fashioned case of sleep apnea,” Brian said. 

“Hmm,” Justin said. 

“Don’t sound so smug,” Brian said.

“I’m not smug,” Justin said. “I’m relieved you finally sucked it up to go see a doctor, since looking over at you in the middle of the night and seeing you fucking _not breathing_ is fucking scary as hell.”

Brian cleared his throat. That was putting it mildly. It had been the final night of Justin’s most recent visit, which, naturally, they’d spent fucking until the wee hours of the morning. Brian had passed out quickly, much to his relief -- he’d been having difficulty falling asleep, even staying asleep, over the past few months, and even having Justin back in his bed didn’t abate his insomnia like it usually did. The next thing he remembered what Justin shouting his name as he shook him awake. At first Brian had thought Justin was having a nightmare, but it soon became clear his panic was from the waking sort of fear. After managing to calm Justin down, they’d enjoyed another slow, sweet fuck, during which Brian proved he was definitely not dead. 

Naive fool that he was, Brian had thought he’d be able to fuck the worry out of Justin, catch some more sleep, and they’d enjoy a peaceful last day together. But when Brian woke up, Justin was already at the computer, dozens of tabs open about sleep apnea, with a notepad beside him listing all the symptoms he’d seen Brian display during this visit alone.

In the end, it was easier to acquiesce to Justin’s demand he see a doctor.

After all, withholding sex had worked for centuries.

“So, what did the doctor suggest?” Justin asked.

Brian cleared his throat again. “Surgery.”

“Surgery?” Justin repeated. “Isn’t that usually a last resort?”

“Well, given how the first resort was a glorified mouth guard, and the second resort was sleeping with a mask hooked up to a machine every night, I decided to bypass a treatment and skip right ahead to the cure.”

Brian could practically hear Justin rolling his eyes. “I suppose those first two options aren’t conducive to your lifestyle.”

“Nor yours, Sunshine,” Brian said. “Pretty sure nothing ruins the mood faster than looking over and seeing your partner looks like a mechanical elephant hybrid.”

“You’d be the most beautiful mechanical elephant hybrid in the universe,” Justin said, and somehow, Brian actually could believe he meant that. “But fine, surgery. What are they doing?”

“Removing excess tissue,” Brian said. “Tonsils, adenoids, shortening the uvula.”

“You still have your tonsils?”

“Given how often your tongue’s danced the tango with them over the past seven years, I feel I have the right to be offended you never noticed.”

“I didn’t think most kids made it out of elementary school with their tonsils intact,” Justin said.

“Once again making me the exception to the rule,” Brian said.

Justin laughed. “As always. When is it?”

“Three weeks from today,” Brian said. 

“And how long are you out of commission?”

Brian shrugged. “Couple of days.”

“Brian…”

“I’m getting some tissue removed from my throat,” Brian said. “It’s a simple surgery. What the fuck kind of recovery time do I need?”

“Brian, how long did the doctor say you needed to take off from work?”

Brian muttered a few choice swears under his breath. He hated when Justin got like this -- making a point to ask specific, detailed questions in as simple terms as possible, in that way that showed he knew _exactly_ how Brian’s mind worked and how he’d evade the issue.

There were admittedly a number of perks to being with someone who knows you better than yourself, but a few distinct drawbacks.

Fortunately for Justin, Brian was well aware the good outweighed the annoyances, and that fact alone propelled him to give the answer Justin was seeking. “Two weeks. But given how I had a fucking testicle removed and was back at --”

“Okay, I’m going to come in the Friday before,” Justin interrupted. “Flight lands at 9PM. I’ll stay for a month.”

“Justin.” 

“You should send me a list of movies you want to watch. Otherwise I’m just going to have to pick, and I didn’t think you’d ever shut up about how much you hated _The Prestige”_

“Justin.”

“Fortunately, you won’t have much of a voice, so --”

“Justin, would you just shut the fuck up and listen for a second?”

There was a pause, and then Justin said, “I’m going to be there, Brian.”

“It’s a minor surgery,” Brian said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “A single night in the hospital. It’s not like…”

Neither of them said the words, but they hung, big and bold, in the air between them. 

_Like when I had cancer._

“You don’t have to come,” Brian continued. “I don’t expect you to.”

“I know you don’t,” Justin said. “But I’m choosing to. There’s no place I’d rather be.”

“No place you’d rather be than by my bedside playing Florence Nightingale? I have to warn you, Sunshine, I’m not a pleasant patient.”

“Believe me, I know,” Justin said. “Fortunately, I’ve picked up a few tricks. And not just the kind you find at Babylon.”

Brian sighed. “A month’s a long time.”

“That’s a new one,” Justin said. “Usually you’re complaining my visits are too short. Afraid you’ll get tired of me?”

_More like the opposite._ “If I’m out of commission for a month, you won’t have to worry about seeing to my gentle care, because I will have killed myself. Besides, how are you going to get any work done? Don’t you have a show coming up in a few months?”

“I believe I recall Britin having an exceptional studio that was custom-designed to suit my every need by my very generous partner,” Justin said. “And I have no doubt you’ll be back to your wicked ways far before a month. I only thought you’d like some time together to celebrate your being a _very_ good patient.”

Brian felt the corners of his mouth curl up into a smile. He was alone; there was no need to hide it. He wasn’t much looking forward to a doctor digging around in his throat, but a month of Sunshine seemed like more than fair recompense. “I thought we already established I’m a terrible patient.”

“I’ll just have to give you incentive to be good, then,” Justin said. 

Brian squeezed his hand into a tight fist. It was times like these he really hated not being near Justin. Now would be the moment he’d pull him close to him and kiss him with everything he had, as if the words that so often got caught in the back of his throat could be passed through to him with the brush of their lips. What the fuck was he supposed to do now?

“Thanks,” he finally said. It wasn’t enough; nothing could ever be enough. But it would have to do for now.

“I love you, too, Brian,” Justin said.

Brian smiled.

Or maybe it was.

* * *

“What’s that?”

“That, Sunshine,” Brian said, shoving the item in question in the trunk of the car, “is a briefcase. I could have sworn you’d seen one before.”

“Once or twice,” Justin said, and tossed his suitcase in the back as well. “I was just wondering why you’d need it at Britin.”

“Well, I assumed even doomed patients were allowed to get some work done while holed up in the sanitarium.”

Justin rolled his eyes and slammed the trunk shut. “When did you turn into such a drama queen?”

“You’re the one insisting on buying out CVS because I’m going to have a sore throat for a few days.”

“Well, if you weren’t interested in the condoms, you only had to say so,” Justin said, and slid into the passenger’s seat.

Frowning, Brian got into the car. “What happened to all that talk of needing to conserve my energy? That I needed rest so my body could heal?”

Justin reached over and cupped his hand promisingly over Brian’s crotch. The sly grin and slight wag of his eyebrows immediately made Brian’s cock stiffen in response. “I’ve found that man is often most determined to heal when he has the right incentive.”

One long, searing kiss later, and Brian stepped on the gas, intent on making it to the manor in less than thirty minutes. 

Something told him he’d be able to convince Justin to give him a preview of what was to come.

* * *

Brian stared down at the forms in front of him, the words blurring before his eyes. The nurse had pointed out everywhere he needed to sign, all the boxes to be checked and all the statements to initial, but he could barely bring himself to move his pen.

He felt a light touch to the small of his back. It didn’t ease the tension in his shoulders like it usually did, but it at least allowed him to focus on the line of text in direct eyesight:

_Emergency Contact._

He hadn’t listed one the last time he’d checked in at a hospital. Well, he _had_ , because the fucking surgeon wouldn’t raise a scalpel unless he knew who to call in case sliced open his femoral artery on his way to removing his ball. But it was a fake name with a fake number.

Not this time.

“You okay?” Justin asked quietly.

Brian nodded, then quickly filled in Justin’s name and phone number. “You know, you don’t need to stick around,” he said, tapping the forms with his pen. “They’ll even call you if something goes wrong.”

“I’m more worried about making sure you don’t throw anything at the doctor when you wake up and can’t talk,” Justin said, but his voice was fond as he brushed back some of Brian’s hair. “You never did well with having to keep your mouth shut.”

“Well, where’s the fun in that?” Brian asked. He kissed Justin’s forehead, his cheek, the tip of his nose, and then, for far too briefly than he’d like, his mouth. He cupped the back of his head, tangling his fingers in his hair, as he rubbed his slightly stubbly cheek against Justin’s smooth one. It was fucking pathetic, standing here clinging to Justin like a childhood toy, as the others in the waiting room stared at them from over top their _People_ magazines. But he didn’t give a shit. Already the sterile, artificial lemon scent of the hospital was overwhelming his senses, and the feeling of having Justin in his arms was the only thing keeping him from being pulled under.

“Mr. Kinney?”

Justin kissed him again, squeezed his hand. “I love you,” he said. “I’ll be there when you wake up.”

Brian nodded. There was no more arguing. He didn’t even want to. “Thank you,” he said, and after one final kiss, turned to follow the nurse.

* * *

The first thing Brian noticed was the IV.

“Whaa--” He tugged his arm toward him, not enough to dislodge the needle, but enough to make him wince. 

“Don’t talk.”

He blinked, and Justin slowly came into focus. That was strange. How did he find out that he wasn’t really going to Ibiza? He tried to raise his arm to heave himself out of bed, but Justin’s firm but gentle hand on his shoulder held him back.

“And don’t get out of bed either. Unless you need to take a piss.”

Brian frowned. He tried to speak again, but could barely manage more than a scratchy rasp. Strange. The doctors hadn't mentioned anything about having his ball removed giving him the voice of a eunuch.

“How about some ice?” Justin asked, brushing Brian’s hair back from his face. “The nurses said you need to keep your throat constantly moist.”

A jumble of half-formed innuendo-laced thoughts dashed about Brian’s mind, but his eyes were already closing and it hurt too much to even open his mouth. He still didn’t understand how Justin knew he was here, but he felt insurmountable relief that he was.

“Come on,” Justin said, and Brian felt an ice cube slide through his parched lips. “Just one before you go to sleep. You’ll thank me later.”

Already half asleep, Brian reached for Justin’s hand, hoping he’d realize with the touch of his thumb stroking Justin’s palm that he was thanking him now.

* * *

Brian was going to fucking murder Justin.

That is, if he could muster the energy to get out of bed.

His throat was on fire. He couldn’t talk. He wasn’t allowed to sleep flat on his back, and instead had to be propped up by a ridiculous number of pillows, and thus couldn’t sleep. And every five minutes Justin was there, making sure he had ice chips under his tongue or a popsicle in his hand and was managing to get his pills down his swollen throat.

Well.

There was a chance it wasn’t _quite_ every five minutes.

And there was never any pity in Justin’s eyes, and while he was definitely doing everything he could to make sure Brian was comfortable, he wasn’t infantilizing him. The best way to describe his demeanor was actually matter of fact. He came in, checked to make sure Brian had what he needed, and went back to his studio. 

If he _had_ to have a nursemaid, Justin really was the best he could possibly have.

It was just that he _fucking hated_ needing a goddamn nursemaid in the first place. He was bored of watching TV, he was too exhausted to focus on work… Christ, what the hell were you supposed to do in bed when you couldn’t fucking _fuck_?

Brian eyed the small, bronze bell on his bedside table. Justin had swiped it from Jennifer’s house and told Brian to use it whenever he needed anything. Brian had refused so far; he wasn’t going to fucking ring for Justin like some Victorian maid. Not to mention he didn’t fucking _need_ anything. There wasn’t anything Justin could _do_. 

But… desperate times…

He picked it up and tentatively turned it over in his hands. The clapper was heavier than he expected, and a low _dong_ escaped. Feeling suddenly like a kid caught with his hand in Deb’s cookie jar, he rushed to put it back on the bedside table.

“Brian?” Justin called, his footsteps echoing in the hallway outside the bedroom. “Are you all right?”

Brian closed his eyes and feigned sleep. He had no doubt Justin would see right through it, but hopefully he’d afford him the dignity of at least pretending. 

“Brian?”

Brian attempted to give a soft snore, but his throat was still raw, so it sounded more like a cat hacking up a small but stubborn hairball.

He felt Justin brush his hair back, then his hand linger just a moment too long on his forehead. Probably checking for fever, that fucking worrywart of a twat.

Justin pressed his lips to Brian’s cheek. “I love you, you little asshole.”

Brian couldn’t quite hide his smile as Justin slid another ice chip under his tongue.

* * *

Brian rolled over in bed.

Then he rolled the other way.

Then he punched one of his half-dozen pillows.

Then he had an idea.

He threw a couple of the pillows to the floor, then, with the air of a man signing his soul over to the devil, he rang the bell.

* * *

Brian eyed the bell.

At that exact moment, the clouds outside shifted and allowed sunlight to stream through the window, catching on the object. Brian could swear the glint on its shiny metal was the bell eyeing him right back.

It was childish.

Brian didn’t _need_ anything.

And Justin had work to do. He played it off, kept insisting it was fine, but Brian knew there was no way this trip back to Pittsburgh for an entire fucking month could not have set him back dramatically. Brian didn’t need to make it harder on him.

Brian eyed the bell.

The bell glinted back at him.

Brian found the sketchpad Justin had left him, scrawled out a few words, and then rang the bell.

Justin, of course, appeared not even a minute later. “Oh, good,” he said. “You’re not faking being asleep this time.”

Brian rolled his eyes, making sure to do it with as much dramatic flair as he could muster given how he couldn’t use his voice to truly hammer his point home, then held up the sketchpad.

Justin checked his watch. “No, you’re not due for pain meds for another hour.”

Frowning, Brian turned the sketchpad around, added a few more words, then turned it back for Justin to see.

Justin laughed. “No, somehow I don’t think Dr. Ramsey would approve of poppers as an additional supplement.”

Brian sighed and leaned back into his mountain of pillows, defeated. Admittedly, it _had_ mostly been an excuse to get Justin back into the room, but he _really_ could have gone for some more Percocet. Maybe it would have made his bed feel a bit more like Babylon.

“I promise to be back in an hour,” Justin said, and dropped a quick kiss to Brian’s lips. “Try to get some rest.”

Brian watched him leave, idly wondering if it was too soon to ring for ice chips.

* * *

“Are you sure all you want is a popsicle? We could probably try some scrambled eggs, if you’re feeling up to it.”

Brian took the popsicle and shook his head. Honestly, he wouldn’t mind some eggs at this point. He was going to fucking puke if he had to swallow down any more Ensure. But he was a man on a mission.

“Okay, well, if you’re -- _Brian_.”

Brian continued his show, licking up and down the popsicle as he would Justin’s cock. Meeting Justin’s eyes, he flicked his tongue around the rounded tip, smirking when he saw him swallow hard.

“I wouldn’t suggest attempting to deep throat that,” Justin said, his voice slightly hoarse. “You don’t want to aggravate the scabs.”

Brian frowned. “You sure know how to ruin --”

“A moment, yes, I know, and what did Dr. Ramsey tell you about talking?”

Brian used his free hand to flip him off.

Justin laughed. “Besides, I really doubt you’d be able to take my cock right now.”

“I can always take your cock, Sunshine,” Brian forced out. He ignored Justin’s pointedly raised eyebrows; he was already being punished enough for speaking by his goddamn throat. Instead, he focused on finishing his popsicle, this time in a decidedly less lascivious fashion. 

Just as well. He was so fucking exhausted he doubted he could even get it up at this point.

“Need anything else?” Justin asked, taking the popsicle stick from him. “Don’t want to add carpal tunnel to your ailments from ringing that bell so often.”

Brian felt a sharp pang of guilt. He’d honestly only meant to ring for Justin a few times, only when he was _really_ desperate, when the boredom was about to smother him, when he was feeling especially vul…

He frowned, refusing to allow himself to finish that thought.

The point was, he had definitely rung that damn bell at least a dozen more times than necessary, and he was going to stop. Now.

He shook his head.

“Okay,” Justin said. He leaned down and gave Brian a kiss, and when he pulled back, he deliberately licked the outline of his lips. “Mmm. Cherry.” 

Brian forced a smile as he brushed his cheek in goodbye, ignoring the way his gut twisted unpleasantly when Justin left the room.

* * *

“I think I’m going to call Dr. Ramsey in the morning.”

Brian looked up from his glass of water, the fifth one he’d requested from Justin in the past hour. He knew he wouldn't finish this one, either. “Why?” he managed to rasp out.

“I know they say this surgery is harder on adults than on children,” Justin said, taking a seat on the bed next to Brian. “But you seem to be in an extraordinary amount of pain. Even accounting for your drama queen tendencies.”

Given the truth in that statement, Brian elected not to lob a pillow at him and instead settled on a pointed glare.

“Plus, you look like shit,” Justin said, brushing back Brian’s hair. “Have you even managed to sleep at all?”

Brian shrugged. He might have _slightly_ exaggerated some of his other complaints, but that one was far too real. No matter how uncomfortable he was in bed, when Justin had suggested moving to the living room for a change in scenery, Brian had shaken his head. His very bones felt weighted down by weariness, and there wasn’t a single part of his body that didn’t ache. Even closing his eyes took colossal effort, but not quite as much as keeping them open. 

“That’s what I thought,” Justin said. “The Percocet should have knocked you out.”

Brian reached for his sketchpad. _Built up an immunity_ , he scrawled across the page.

Justin smiled, but his jaw was tight. “Nice try. It’s probably not a big deal. But I just want to make sure.” 

“You don’t --”

“I know I don’t,” Justin interjected, for which Brian was supremely grateful. “Just humor me, okay? And who knows? Maybe he’ll prescribe you something that really will help you sleep.”

Brian arched an eyebrow.

“Like I said, you never know,” Justin said. He leaned down and kissed Brian on the mouth. It couldn’t have been the most pleasant of kisses; Brian’s lips were chapped, and he knew his breath likely stank, but there was a tenderness to it that made Brian feel more at peace than he had ever since he’d awoken from surgery.

“Thanks,” Brian whispered when they parted.

Justin gave his shoulder a light squeeze and stood up. “Anything else you need from me before I head back to work?”

Once again, Brian shook his head. The time for playing games was over. Justin had work to do, and Brian had already pulled him away from it for long enough. There was no need for him to act like a fucking child, just because his throat was raw and he was so fucking exhausted that he could nearly feel tears prickling the corners of his eyes and Justin…

“Yeah?”

Shit. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

“Brian?”

Brian closed his eyes, an act he immediately regretted because it would take that much more effort to reopen them. And, unfortunately, he hadn’t yet mastered the art of writing with his eyes closed. Summoning the last remaining tattered shreds of his energy, he opened his eyes and, biting his lip, reached for his sketchpad. 

_Stay with me._

Justin’s face immediately softened. “Oh, Brian,” he said, and he gave him that _look_ , the one that still brought Brian to his knees on the best of days, the one that left even Brian with exactly zero doubts that what Justin felt for him was pure love, love in its rawest, most powerful form. At one point it had been frightening, but now all Brian wanted was to dive in headfirst and bathe in the emotion, feel it course through his veins and light his soul on fire.

Justin stripped off his shirt and jeans, then climbed into bed next to Brian and adjusted the covers around them. It was awkward settling in; Brian was nearly sitting completely upright, but there weren’t enough pillows left for Justin to be propped up to the same height. Eventually, Justin managed to contort himself so he could rest his head on Brian’s chest. It couldn’t be comfortable, but he looked up at Brian and smiled at him like there was no place in the world he’d rather be.

“You know, you only had to ask,” Justin said, reaching up to cup Brian’s cheek.

Brian grasped Justin’s hand, and, closing his eyes, finally allowed himself to drift off to sleep.


End file.
